the review - peter maxwell davies lyrics
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my people, i come before you in mourning, on my
breast, a star
the king is dead
a good-hearted gentleman, a humble servant of god
a loving husband, an affectionate sire
poor fellow, he went mad
he talked to the trees, attacked his eldest son
disowned his wife, to make a ghost his queen –
a ghost his queen
so they seized him, whipped him
starved him, jeered in his face
while he talked he talked he talked he talked:
they could not shave him, his mouth was never still
sometimes he howled like a dog !
and he veiled the mirrors not see himself p-ss by
for his eyes had turned into blackcurrant jelly
poor fellow, i weep for him
he will die howling
howling, howling
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